Valeria is a fool to trust Leara so deeply.
She dares to call me a schemer? This manipulative creature is more psychologically dubious than I'll ever be.
The Mad Raven has no weakness. No vulnerability. She does not mentally crack under lost sleep, nor does she entertain romance.
Hatred fills the void. Seals the cracks. Keeps the ship going.
I didn't realize how far gone she truly was. How deep her unbridled enmity for the Landeskogs went.
It's like staring into a mirror. Leara and I are the same.
I love myself. But the sight sickens me. It's the same here; she's disgustingly lovely. How could I ever feel anything genuine for… this?
I can't. Trust is genuine, and we are both birds of an insincere feather.
"Don't try that again," I match her lusterless stare with my own. Leara has sucked the life out of my facade.
"Try what?" She plays dumb—superficially, of course; an amused smile still lingers on her face. Frustrating, yet I'm not all that hurt or surprised.
Her grey-white eyes are so strange. There's a splash of color that I'll never get close enough to see truly.
"You'll have to try harder," I sneer as we lock eyes. "Affection doesn't suit your character. Too unauthentic. You need to obfuscate the line between reality and facade."
"Speaking from experience?" she tilts her head slyly, trying to gain an advantage from my gloating.
"Just trying to help an ally," I sarcastically smirk. "Do you have a plan or not?"
The facade shatters as fast as she put it on. Really, that's the issue; if you're going to fool me, you'll need to make the facade your complete reality. To fully give in to your act. Self-delusion.
A mask that you can take on and off isn't good enough, especially when I can see the contrast so clearly.
"Of course," Leara exhales, now expressionless. She leans down against the opposite armrest. "It's more or less your plan."
"That being?"
"Cossa needs to be aligned with us. By any means necessary," she says. "That's your task. So throw yourself at his feet and grovel."
"Funny. But very well," I'm no stranger to impossible tasks. "What'll you be doing in the meantime?"
"Moving inland. Scouting the mountain. Countering Alexander's early moves, should he have any. Securing resources for us—and for your slaves, of course."
"My slaves?" I'm not a slaver. How dare you.
"I'm counting on you." Her tone turns serious. A hint of genuineness.
"Sure."
I take my leave, steps echoing against the old stone ground beneath my boots.
It's as if I keep going further into the deep end. More turbulent.
This sinking feeling only festers.
***
Crouched behind a thick bush, I stare at a trio of utter simpletons.
"Nelly, I'm hungry," the thin boy groans. Henri of Behrens. An entitled nobody upper noble. 100 to 200s. "Hurry up."
"Shut. The fuck. Up." Nelly of Alania replies. They're cooking some kind of bird over the fire.
"Come on," the final big one says—Samuel of Malenstyn. Soft-spoken. "No need for that."
"Need for what?" Nelly asks.
"Bad words."
"You're so fucking annoying," Nelly furiously shakes. "Both of you!"
"No need to get so upset," Henri turns smug. Ragebaiting bastard. "Maybe it's that time of the month. What do you think of that, Sam?"
"I don't know what that means," Samuel scratches his chin and looks down at his watch. "Says it's noon on a Wednesday."
"You're a dullard," Henri sighs.
"And you're dead!" Nelly ignores the burning bird over the spit and begins chasing Henri around with a knife in hand.
"Hey! You can't stab your teammates!" Henri has a big smile on his face as he's faced with imminent danger.
They go round and round. Henri shuffles side to side, light on his feet, trying to throw Nelly off. She jumps over the log-stool he was using for cover, but he bolts.
Samuel sits, staring at the open sky above their little campfire. He's low-ranked—a lack of a frontal lobe is certainly to blame.
"Come here, bastard!" Nelly yells out, though slowing down.
They go on this charade for some time, with Henri successfully evading. My eyes grow tired of it.
"Uh, guys," Samuel tries calling out. "There's a strange orb in the sky."
"It's called the sun, you utter retard." Henri says quite poshly.
Nelly has given up the chase, now growing concerned over the burning of the group's meal.
"No, there's really something up there! I swear!"
"Oh really?" Henri shields his eyes from the sun and stares up, all smug-like. Then he sees it. "Huh. Well, I'll be damned."
"Probably just a medical airship," Nelly says, not even looking up.
"It's a black cylinder," Samuel says, his voice trembling. "And it's right there!"
"That's exactly what a fucking airship is, dumbass: a black cylinder."
"It does appear to be a small black cylinder floating in the sky," Henri nods. "However, it can't be an airship."
"And why not?" Nelly snaps.
"Because it's only a dozen feet above us."
"Are you two motherfuckers messing with me?" Nelly looks at her teammates, red in the face from sheer aggravation. "There isn't a rule that prevents me from stabbing you."
"I'm serious." Henri is indeed.
Nelly finally looks up. "The hell is that?"
"It's a camera," Henri exclaims. "It's got to be."
"What's a camera doing watching us?"
"Hi Mom!" Samuel waves upward.
Looks like it's showtime.
CRUNCH.
Samuel goes limp to the ground, the sound of breaking bone rattling my eardrums. Valeria was a flash of crimson—knuckle to jaw.
"Oh shit…" Nelly readies herself, pointing a wobbling dagger at the charging Valeria.
I set my sights on the retreating Henri. He's running for a sword.
Empowered fuels my burst of steps—costly, but worth it.
I hound him from behind. He's two steps from the sword, but I'm here. He isn't ready.
Essence fills my fist with warmth. Empowered is activated. This should knock him out.
"Hel—!"
KRRRRKKK.
The back of Henri's head explodes into bone and blood.